


Free as if a wild wind in the steppe

by vrisadefer



Category: Ogniem i Mieczem | With Fire and Sword (1999), Trylogia | The Trilogy - Henryk Sienkiewicz
Genre: Angst, Brooding in the steppe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Never trust a witch, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrisadefer/pseuds/vrisadefer
Summary: Ungodly famous and worshipped by half of the Sicz; to his companions like a beloved, proud, wondrous and mad brother - and yet, there is one heart he cannot win, no matter what he does.How Bohun, a young Cossack ataman, returns from a distant trip to Rozłogi, hoping that this time maybe fate will smile at him - and God will give that Helena will finally look at him with kindness. And about how it all went to hell and how a curse most horrid befell him - and the hatred of kniaziówna.
Relationships: Helena Kurcewiczówna/Jan Skrzetuski, Jurko Bohun/Helena Kurcewiczówna, Jurko Bohun/Jan Skrzetuski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Free as if a wild wind in the steppe

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Wolny jak wiatr w polu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918132) by [vrisadefer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrisadefer/pseuds/vrisadefer). 



> A translation? How come! (It is easier than to write another chapter, do forgive me). Some terms left in Polish, might fix them later on - might not. If you are not Polish yet you seek to read about OiM, you are a mad soul already and you have no choice but to put up with me.

The day was sunny and hot, and the steppes warmed by the summer sun exhausted the riders with stuffy, dancing air, and they had to stop to give water to their horses much more often than they'd want to. They also had to get rid of all unnecessary parts of clothing and armament, as sweat flowed profusely from the half-naked Cossacks’ burned and hardened skin. With the back of their hands, they wiped their foreheads to prevent sweat from dripping into their eyes.

  
  


At the very head was their leader. He was younger than half his company, but the men would follow him - and only him - anywhere, even into the fire. Black-browed and proud, with piercing eyes concealing not only great thought and fantasy — but also madness. He rode his black horse, upright and focused, and didn't seem to be bothered by the scorching rays of the sun. It was equally easy for him to pretend utter indifference to the fact that they went astray from the trail leading from the Sicz Czertomlicka to the road towards Łubnie, a fact which became more and more evident with each passing scorching minute, and that they now wandered far from the river into the burning wilderness, tiring both the horses and themselves. After a while, somewhere on the horizon, a dark forest line loomed, and suddenly the team's mood lifted, and they woke up from the heat induces half-stupor.

  
  


\- Will we ride to the forest? - one of the younger Cossacks asked loudly - There would be some shade and the heat would be less murderous there.

  
  


Numerous nods and enthusiastic murmurs followed. The company would not dare complain, in equal parts motivated by the love for their ataman - and fear. But they did need rest, and they did yearn for shade. 

  
  


\- We might find some water, too. - the leader added without looking at them. His eyes were fixed on the forest, which suddenly seemed unique and eerie, and filled with some strange aura. - So the forest it is. - he finished and forced the horse to go faster. And the rest of the Cossack company followed him, more lively now and impatient for the shadow so desired after such a long day of driving in the heat. However, the closer they were to the border of the dark trees, the more the conversations ceased and the anxiety grew in their hearts. They looked around vigilantly, looking at the steppe and the forest, and at the faces of their companions, revealing the same concern. Only their wondrous leader did not slow down, and not one shadow of a doubt danced on his sharp and wild face. 

After a while, they entered a forested, overgrown road and a blissful shade came over them. The horses, however, resisted — and it took a whip to get them into the forest.

The company was small, barely a part of the unit commanded by the young Ataman; his most trusted warriors with whom he was travelling to deliver letters from the council to Zaporizhia troops, who, according to the order of the new Rus voivode, were to come to Łubnie. The youngest of them all was Hryćko Kulyk, whose elders treated them more like a squire and a horse-boy than as an equal to them. He was, however, cheerful and calm, and loyal to the Ataman like no other. Enchanted by him as if he was the Hetman Sahajdaczny himself, at every opportunity he tried to please the commander whichever way he could, to impress him and show how grateful he was to be allowed into his closest company.

The truth was that each member of the company was equally in awe when it came to the Ataman, who seemed to them a too mysterious guardian, haunted by some deep melancholy, a brave young man of great fame and skill in battle - but also an invaluable companion in looting and vodka, who sat by the fire with a _teorban_ , and to the joyful shouts of the team, he entertained them with singing. 

Now, however, Jurko Bohun was deathly silent, and stared at the space in front of him with his dark brows furrowed in great and strange focus. Suddenly, he stopped.

\- I can hear the stream. - he said to the company. The men looked at each other with slight surprise, because none of them heard even a slightest of sounds, but they knew that the Ataman had never been wrong and had to be believed. He turned the horse over and looked closely at his companions.

\- I'll go to the forest, I will search! - Hryćko shouted eagerly.

\- Quiet, the whole forest doesn't have to know that we're here. - old Ivan murmured in an indifferent tone, but it did make the young boy huddle slightly in the saddle.

\- You follow this path, it is wider and better suited for horses. I will go from the other side of the gorge and join you by the water, should we find it. - Bohun announced and no one questioned his enigmatic decision. The Cossacks headed in the direction they were ordered and after a while, the Ataman disappeared from their sight. The truth was he hardly cared for the stream, but for a moment for his own thoughts - he was more and more anxious that they seemed to stray from the path he knew so well. And he wanted to come back as soon as possible, maybe not to Łubnie, admittedly, but to _come back_ , with the wealth gained in distant lands, to throw it all at the feet of one beloved soul, and plead for a good word. Plead with his whole wild heart, and kneel as if he wasn’t a man and she wasn’t a girl: but as if he was a dog, and she… A goddess.

The Cossack company went through the forest alone.

\- How good to take a break from this cursed sun. - one of the men said. - I don't even care about the damned letters anymore, all I want is some shade and water, and rest...

\- And dare tell it to the Ataman, he will give you rest! - another one answered and laughed with the rest of the company.

\- Ataman is dangerous when it comes to politics. - one of them murmured.

\- Ataman is dangerous even when it comes to a horse or vodka. - added Szuła, a Cossack with a scar running across his face and deforming his lips. - And there is no one better than him.

\- None. - others agreed. There was silence, broken only by the sound of horse hooves. The forest had a strange effect on the men: they stopped and were still looking around. Those more superstitious among the company began to think about whether this forest was not cursed indeed. The sun shone through the leaves and gilded the moss-covered trunks; dense rugs of ferns and berries stretched under their feet, but they only listened, with great care, not paying the slightest attention to the charm of the forest.

\- It's unusual - Szula began again, - that we suddenly went astray. I don't believe in some curses, but this forest is full of evil. We should rest and move on.

\- It's not good here - another agreed. - As if something is behind you, its eyes on your back.

\- The birds are sitting on branches and looking at your back. - said old Ivan. - Hmpf! So much blood shed among them, so many battles won, and yet they are afraid of the woods. - he shook his gray head. - Shame on you.

The Cossacks had too much respect for the experienced Ivan to be outraged by his words, and many actually agreed with him, in the depths of their hearts. But they couldn't get rid of the fear, even if they tried to explain it all rationally.

\- Listen! It’s the stream, for sure! - Hryćko said suddenly and accelerated slightly. They guessed that there would be water at the end of the gorge.

Suddenly a cool wind blew, carrying some ghost that, invisible to people, frightened the horses. They began to whinny and back up, trying to throw the riders from the saddle.

\- _Upiór!_ \- one of the younger men called in a pained voice, and the others nodded, still calming the horses.

\- Fools! Wolves in the forest, horses felt them, that's all, mad heads! - Ivan shouted, scolding the company.

And in that moment they noticed that they had reached the end of the deep ravine. Fear completely embraced their hearts; they felt as if they were in a death trap. They began to piously mutter prayers and hum superstitious songs, spit over the left shoulder, and do many things that, according to their minds, were to scare away evil powers. Hryćko clung to his saddle and looked around, nervously, in hopes to see his beloved Ataman. 

After a while they noticed a vivid and wide stream flowing through the rocky clefts and fallen rotten trunks - but they did not want to go further into the forest. Their hearts were overcome by fear, and even Ivan was hesitant to hurry his horse further.

Suddenly, they heard a loud hoof beating and saw a black mount hurried by its rider. The company’s hardened hearts were filled with relief at the sight of their Ataman.

\- It will be difficult to decide who found this stream. - Bohun laughed - Me, or maybe you, standing like sheaves of hay in a field! Why were you so scared?

Nobody wanted to tell their fears to the commander, so the Cossacks only shrugged and laughed out loud, and concealed the cause of their fear. A moment of Ataman's company was more than enough to make them forget about ghosts and curses.

\- We will rest here, the clearing is wide. Tie the horses to the trunks and let them drink. I know which way to go, so we need to move as soon as possible.

They got off the horses and began to unyoke them, unpack the supplies and lead the horses to the water. But they stopped suddenly, looking at the stream. 

A wreath flowed slowly with the stream, _extremely slowly_ , full of flowers and ferns. The dark green of the wet leaves and the deep red of the rosehips shimmered in the drops of water. The Cossacks fell silent and looked at each other.

\- What spell is this..? - asked old Ivan quietly.

Suddenly, Bohun jumped off the horse and leapt into the stream.

\- Maybe some fair lass threw it into the stream? - A smile lit his face, so that even worried men could not refrain from cheerfulness. Even though it was a wild smile, sharp and strange. 

\- What if it was a witch? - Hryćko asked in a slightly shaky voice.

\- Or maybe both fair - and a witch? - Bohun laughed aloud and with one swift movement grabbed the wreath, pulling it out of the stream. Clear cold water flowed down his arm. His gaze was caught by the reflections playing in drops settled on the leaves, as if in the precious stones captured in the war. 

Like gems… Gained with blood, with effort and renunciation - but wonders that brought fame greater than the whole Ukraine and Niż have known for years. And what was his fame good for? For what, since these bright eyes run away from his face as if he was covered with leprosy, burned with fire, tormented by some rot? His smile faded a little and Bohun fell silent. The company’s spirits seemed to suffer with him, even though they did not understand why the wreath awoke such melancholy in his heart. Despite the fact that nothing surprising truly happened, the whole team felt the uncommonness of the upcoming events.

Bohun strapped the wreath to the saddle of his black horse.

He shook himself of unhappy thoughts, and he decided to see the wreath - together with finding the water and the path leading back to the trail - as a good sign. 

And for a moment he allowed himself to imagine this beloved sight: Helena sitting in the orchard, braiding her hair in a thick braid. And a wreath on her head. And on her face... a smile when she saw him descend from the horse...But he quickly chased away these thoughts and joined the rest of the company, filling the skins with water. No use in tormenting his heart when there were still miles to go. 

The cold water of the forest stream stifled his restless thoughts and soothed the raging blood.


End file.
